


The Price of Prophecy

by Storycat9



Series: Wide Binary Orbit [3]
Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: AU, Angst and Feels, Episode: s04e08 Super Bad Boyfriend, Episode: s04e09 Save Lucifer, F/M, Father Kinley Is Just the Worst, Jealousy, Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV) Needs A Hug, Mutual Pining, Or More Like Round-Robin Pining, Poor Life Choices, Protective Chloe Decker, Protective Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV), Too Many People Want to Hug Him, Use Your Words
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-20
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:14:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27114526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Storycat9/pseuds/Storycat9
Summary: Father Kinley’s gleaming eyes locked onto Chloe's with the gentle sadism of a fanatic."I thought that the prophecy was about you, Chloe, but I realize now that I could have been wrong. If it’s not you, then who else could be Lucifer’s first love?"For a moment she still hates herself for, Chloe had wanted to speak Eve’s name.
Relationships: Chloe Decker & Eve, Chloe Decker & Lucifer Morningstar, Chloe Decker/Lucifer Morningstar, Eve/Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV), Mazikeen & Eve
Series: Wide Binary Orbit [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1979053
Comments: 64
Kudos: 158





	1. Chapter 1

_When the Devil walks the earth and finds his true love, evil shall be released._

The words hiss and buzz in Chloe’s brain like the wings of wasps. She turns over in bed for the thousandth time, a clamp tightening around her chest. 

* * *

Father Kinley’s gleaming eyes had locked onto hers with the gentle sadism of a fanatic. 

_I thought that the prophecy was about you, Chloe, but I realize now that I could have been wrong. If it’s not you, then who else could be Lucifer’s first love?_

_You know who it is, don’t you._

For a moment she still hates herself for, Chloe had wanted to speak Eve’s name. Jealousy opened up inside her at the thought of the First Woman, Lucifer’s first and once again lover, and some tiny, traitorous part of her whispered, _If they broke up, wouldn’t that stop the prophecy?_

She forcibly called up an image of the sweet, open-faced brunette holding back tears as she held napkins to Lucifer’s gut-shot and reeling body during Lux’s siege. Lucifer is good, and not about to release evil anywhere. Eve is good, and truly loves Lucifer. Chloe Decker won’t let herself get caught in the same trap more than once. 

_Father Kinley, have you ever considered that if you could have been wrong about one thing, you could be wrong about the rest of it, too? You are responsible for more people dying than Lucifer ever was. Don’t call me again._

* * *

Now she listens to the prophecy in her head as penance, forcing herself to remember the analytical, materialist Detective she used to be before the world turned into mythological insanity around her. 

She has to accept God and the Devil are real. Lucifer has proven himself a reliable narrator on that much, at least. But she doesn’t have to accept that everything is real, that any fortune cookie statement believed by a man who has proven his murderous insanity must be given the same weight. So what would the Detective she’s supposed to be, the one Lucifer used to respect, think of this situation?

Chloe lets go of any attempt to sleep and simply waits, dry mouthed and red-eyed, for dawn. She turns off her alarm and showers briskly, pulling her hair back into a tight braid and donning the beige-est of her cop clothes. A uniform that offers no competition, that requests no second glance. She makes Trixie breakfast without eating any herself and plays at being happy until she can drop her daughter off at school. Then she prepares to utterly dissolve any hope of future contact with her partner. 

She calls Eve, not Lucifer.

“Hey, good morning, it’s Chloe,” she says, knowing the other woman can hear the anxiety in her voice. “I hope I didn’t wake you, but I was hoping to catch you and Lucifer before he left for work.”

“He’s still here … are you ok?” Eve asks.

“Not really. Can you please ask Lucifer to stay at Lux? I need to come talk to you both as soon as possible.”

“Um, I guess? He’s in the shower,” Eve manages before Chloe cuts in, mortified at the abrupt picture in her head.

“No worries, I will make sure I call up from Lux when I get there. Thank you, Eve.”

Chloe drives as fast as she can through rush hour LA traffic, ignoring the occasional ping of text messages arriving on her phone. She pulls into a free space in Lucifer’s garage and calls up from her car.

This time Lucifer picks up Eve’s phone. “Detective, what’s going on?”

“Hey Lucifer, I’m sorry for butting in this morning. Can I come up?”

“The penthouse is not exactly suitable for police guests at the moment, Detective.”

“That’s … that’s ok,” she swallows against her dry throat. “Please?”

There’s a long pause, then Lucifer spits out an almost-defiant, “Fine.”

* * *

It’s better than she’d expected, frankly. The living room is strewn with bondage equipment, random articles of male and female clothing, and trays of a rainbow of various drugs, but at least there are no visible remaining attendees of the obviously very recent orgy. Chloe doesn’t allow herself to flinch as she threads her way through the aftermath, noting Eve wears a sunny yellow polka dot halter dress, while Lucifer may have showered but hasn’t bothered to dress in more than his silk sleep pants and untied robe. 

“Good morning Detective, I’d offer you breakfast but unfortunately I doubt there’s anything legal here for you to consume,” Lucifer says, in the same bright, sharp voice he has used in the office to describe sex capades with Cirque du Soleil. Behind the bar, Eve silently slides a cup of coffee toward her, eyebrows raised, and Chloe takes the lifeline offered with a grateful half-smile.

Lucifer’s smile falters a moment, then he flashes the thousand-watt grin as he gestures both women toward the couch, walking ahead of them to sweep various clothes and toys into a pile to make room. He sits in one of the club chairs and looks at Chloe expectantly. She sits on the couch across from him, and Eve, after an uncertain moment, perches on the arm of Lucifer’s chair. 

“So, what’s the emergency?” he asks, wrapping an arm casually around Eve’s waist.

Chloe clasps her hands in her lap and forces herself to look at them. 

“I think Eve might be in danger. Both of you, really, but particularly Eve.”

Eve’s eyebrows rise, while a flicker of red is there and gone in Lucifer’s eyes. “Why?”

“I saw … Lucifer, I saw Father Kinley yesterday,” Chloe says, rushing on at the thunderous expression coming onto his face. “--He’s been asking for me nonstop, and I wanted to tell him to quit. He wanted to tell me a prophecy.”

“Oh really, what did he predict? Winter is coming?”

She accepts Lucifer’s contemptuous expression, choosing to focus on Eve, whose dark eyes remain curious and a bit sympathetic.

“He said, ‘When the Devil walks the Earth and finds his first love, evil shall be released.’”

Lucifer startles. “Evil shall be released? What does that mean?”

“It doesn’t mean _anything_ , Lucifer, it’s bullshit,” Chloe says fiercely. “He’s an insane zealot with an obsession. But I’m concerned that Kinley had more followers, here and in Rome, and they all would do anything to stop what they believe is the end of the world. Kinley was trying to find out if I knew your first love, Lucifer. If he, or anyone he’s been working with, finds out Eve is here, I know they will try to kill her.”

Eve pales, but Lucifer laughs. “I’d like to see them try.”

“Lucifer, please take this seriously. Father Kinley is in custody, but we have no idea how many followers he had beyond the ones he got killed. He talked about some group inside the Vatican called the International Association of Exorcists, and implied they all believed in this thing. Eve needs a protection detail at the very least, until we are certain we have all of Kinley’s people.”

“And you’re proposing the LAPD?” Lucifer scoffs. “Really, Detective, how many of your trusted colleagues have tried to kill _you_ in just the time we’ve known each other? I’d hardly trust the police when it comes to protecting my own.” 

She flinches, but tries to pretend she hasn’t, and Lucifer likewise pretends not to notice. Eve clasps her hands in her lap like a child in church, her eyes dark and solemn on Chloe. 

Lucifer pulls out his phone, presses a speed dial, and both women hear Mazikeen’s voice snap on the other end. Lucifer answers in that growling, sharp language he’s used before. Chloe catches Eve’s name, and Kinley’s, but nothing else. She hears Maze bark laughter and answer in the same language; Chloe catches her own name. Lucifer shakes his head sharply and says something else. She replies and he says in English, “Thanks, Maze. See you in a bit.”

Lucifer frowns to himself, staring at Chloe without really focusing on her. He runs his hand up and down Eve’s side as if grounding himself, then turns toward the brunette. “Maze is leaving her bounty in Cleveland and will be back here by tomorrow to keep you company, darling. Unless the Vatican sends the entire Pontifical Swiss Guard, Maze can handle any would-be soldiers of Dad.” He pauses, cutting his eyes to Chloe again. “I expect it won’t take long for the Detective and I to dig out any of Kinley’s pets that have gone to ground.”

Eve starts to make a protesting noise, and Chloe speaks up. 

“Lucifer, you know that you are a target here, too. It might be best if you stay out of the field until we know it’s safe.”

Lucifer’s eyes narrow dangerously. “Is this your way of saying my services as a civilian consultant are no longer required …”

“That’s _not_ what I’m saying, Lucifer, and you know it,” she snaps. “It’s only been a few months since you got shot. The paint isn’t even dry on Lux’s repairs from SWAT taking out the wall. I just don’t want anything …” _to happen to you,_ she trails off into her head. She can feel the stickiness of phantom blood on her hands, and the memory of the sick emptiness in her stomach when she thought he had bled out in front of her. 

Eve clears her throat. “Bae, could you wait with me until Maze gets here?” she asks, her eyes wide enough to make Bambi look tough. 

Lucifer softens. “I’ll stay here until I know Eve is protected, but I want a chance to speak to our favorite apocalyptic priest.”

Chloe nods, taking the concession. “I’m going to try to do more research on this International Association of Exorcists he’s a part of, but I won’t talk to anyone without you.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucifer paces. Chloe makes arrangements. A little boy helps his mother.

Lucifer paces. 

He's spent much of the morning calling in a half-dozen or so favors for additional security and discreet information. He's had lines on the Vatican and the leadership of every other major religion for centuries, but frankly most religious leaders spend more time griping about each other than worrying about him for anything more than an easy sermon whipping boy. Locally, Bishop Hoffman has neither pursued a deal with him nor seemed to warrant punishment in the years Lucifer's been in L.A., and considering Hoffman testified against that lying worm Kinley and got him excommunicated, Lucifer doubts this exorcist group has official sanction in California at least. It’s a toss-up whether his own contacts will find out more before the Detective gets anything out of the FBI or Interpol.

There’s nothing left to do but pace and twiddle his fucking thumbs until the Detective calls or Maze shows up to take over Eve's protection detail.

The penthouse isn’t big enough. His bloody  _ skin  _ isn’t big enough. 

Eve watches him from the bar, where she’s making him a sidecar and herself a sour apple martini. “It was nice of Chloe to warn us,” she offers mildly as she hands him his drink.

“Likely unnecessary,” Lucifer snorts, hoping it sounds dismissive instead of how he actually feels, which is furious. 

He knows Eve’s right; he ought to feel grateful or at least consider it proof the Detective is trying to make up for her betrayal--rather like Maze sleeping with Amenadiel to become Lucifer’s demon on the inside after letting slip that he was in therapy. But the very thought of the Detective in the same room with that Father Kinley feels like the scab being ripped off a painful, pus-filled wound just when he’d barely managed to stop bumping the blasted thing every time he turned around. It makes him realize how little has actually healed.

Worse, the conviction on the Detective’s face and in her voice when she told them about the prophecy disturbs him. The Detective totally accepted that the Devil had found his first love in Eve. And even after months of shoving his devilry in her face at every opportunity, his partner is equally certain that no evil could come from him and Eve being together. She has faith not just in Eve’s goodness, but his own, and the full force of Detective Chloe Decker’s protective instinct blazed out as though it would immolate any who dared hurt either of them.

Something in that feels wrong, feels like a lie, but on his part this time, not the Detective’s. Lucifer thinks of how he’d longed to stomp Julian McCaffrey’s spine. Eve had stopped him then, even though she’d seemed at first to want him to unload his worst punishment on that human stain. There’s one sure proof against the prophecy, he chuckles grimly: If Eve was his first love, she’d stopped evil from being released. He suspects it might even have been on the Detective's orders.

Lucifer’s hand burns again, the place where he’d picked up the Detective’s necklace. Ever since he accompanied the Detective and her spawn to the Santa Monica pier last week, he’s found himself periodically rubbing the skin without thinking. There’s actually a red mark there, slightly blistered, as though he actually had burned it on the necklace. It doesn’t seem to be healing. 

Eve’s noticed, of course she has, and what can he tell her? The Devil burned himself on a spent bullet? 

But Eve had her bite of Knowledge, and he can tell she won’t ask questions when she doesn’t want to know or pay for the answers. He’s grateful for that, grateful for her, in so many ways. She wants what’s easy to give: fun and mischief and thumbing their noses at the Silver City, easy orgasms and easy drugs and easy company. He wants to be able to throw himself into her and his old hedonism and stop thinking, stop thinking,  _ stop bloody thinking _ \--

“Bae, what’re you thinking about?”

Lucifer twists his frown into a pout as he turns to Eve. “I was thinking that we’ll have to postpone the Leathers and Leis party this weekend, darling. It would be a security nightmare, not to mention the high likelihood that the Detective will station actual police here who won’t be willing to share their handcuffs and billy clubs for anything fun.”

Eve’s pretty mouth drops in dismay. “But Luce, what are we going to do with a whole Hawaiian roasted pig? And they’re delivering 20 cut pineapples for the fruit ring toss this morning.”

“Maybe we can send it to the precinct. Or I’m sure there’s a soup kitchen out there that would appreciate a pork dinner,” Lucifer says, thinking with no small bitterness of the Detective’s attempted “community service date.” Just one of, well,  _ every  _ date they’d attempted that somehow went horribly wrong. Almost as though Someone was trying to send a message.

“Well, for the pineapple rings, we can at least decorate  _ each other  _ with them and nibble them away for dessert,” Eve says with her breathy little giggle. 

Lucifer throws his girlfriend a wolfish grin, wraps his arms around her and nuzzles between her breasts. He thinks about Eve nibbling away a well-tossed pineapple ring, and tries to push away the image of his partner sitting in the precinct, listening to people who hate him. 

* * *

“Adrea Burnette, can I help you?”

“Hi, Agent Burnette, this is Chloe Decker at the LAPD.”

“Detective Decker, how are you? I hope things are settling down out there.”

The last time Chloe had spoken to Agent Burnette, she’d been in debrief with the feds after the shootout with Marcus and his men. After seeing Lucifer’s Devil face. Burnette had been impressed at the evidence they had been able to build off of Charlotte’s files, and had given Chloe more of a benefit of the doubt than she gave herself for having utterly misread two separate romantic partners. The older agent’s kindness and gentle pragmatism had helped Chloe shake off the shock and creeping sense of unreality--or at least, push it down for a few days longer while she helped Burnette sort through what she needed to track down the remains of the Sinnerman’s interstate crime web. 

There hadn’t been a peep from Lucifer in all that time. Dan and Ella, who were pretty sure he’d killed Marcus, thought Chloe had told him to stay away while they soothed things over. To this day Chloe had no idea if he’d been healing from the fight or unable to change back from his Devil face or simply wanted her to come to him. It meant that Burnette knew about Lucifer only on paper, as an eccentric club owner and surprisingly effective consultant who had been sent home as soon as Chloe, Dan, and Ella realized how dangerous their former lieutenant was. 

“We haven’t had any more rumors of Pierce’s men; between you guys and Internal Affairs, I think the place has been pretty cleaned up,” Chloe said. “I’m actually calling because I need a referral. Do you know anyone at the bureau who specializes in cults or religious extremists?”

“Both and several,” the woman replied. “What’s going on?”

“My civilian consultant, Lucifer Morningstar; he owns a club here. A few months back we had a mentally unstable priest become fixated on him.”

Burnette snorted on the other end of the line. “Because of the name, I assume?”

“Father William Kinley ended up orchestrating two murders and a suicide in some deranged effort to convince the local bishop that my partner was the actual Devil. He got excommunicated for it, and he’s awaiting trial now,” Chloe said.

“Okay, so?”

“So he asked to speak to me, and gave me reason to believe he was not acting alone. I now believe that my partner and his girlfriend could both be targeted by others Kinley was working with.” Chloe felt her mouth dry with shame but forced herself to go on. “I know Kinley and people working with him tried to poison my partner at least once before the murders. That got stopped through sheer luck and I'd thought his only accomplice was the man he set up to take the fall for the murders. But I think Kinley's people are going to go after his girlfriend next; they want to kill one or both of them to stop some sort of prophecy that Kinley believes. I need someone who can help me find out more and understand what they might do.”

“Has your partner ever considered picking a different stage name?” Burnette says with the deadpan sympathy of a veteran agent.

“Strangely enough, it’s his real name--and yes, his parents are that awful,” Chloe says.

Burnette laughs, then hums, and Chloe can hear keys clacking rapidly on the other end of the line. “So, I can actually give you two folks to start with. Nils Justineau is an associate professor of comparative religion at UCLA; he does a lot of consulting work for us exploring the mythology of doomsday cults and terrorists with apocalyptic motivations. And my colleague Holly Black is in our anti-terrorism unit; if there’s a religious extremist group working in this region, she’ll know about it.”

Chloe emailed over copies of the files from the Ochoa/Ramirez murders, as well as her own notes on Kinley’s prophecy and what he’d described of the plum vial and its related ceremony. 

She was about to go to the new lieutenant’s office to request a protection detail when she looked up to find him at her desk, file in hand. She gave him a quick rundown.

“We can get a couple of the officers on patrol to keep an eye on Lux, but I’ll need you for at least a few hours today, Decker,” Lieutenant Ortiz said. “New body dropped this morning. Looks like one of those twins who do the real estate show killed the other.”

“The Murphy twins?” Chloe said, taken aback. She and Maze used to watch their local TV show on Sunday afternoons and make fun of couples who thought they could buy a two-bedroom, two-bath house in Westwood for under a million dollars.

“We’ve got a BOLO out already, so with luck it will be cut and dried.”

She takes a breath, nods to the lieutenant, and tries to decide whether Lucifer will be more annoyed if she leaves him off the case, or distracts him from protecting Eve. She calls, and Lucifer picks up on the first ring.

* * *

_ Glasgow, 1968 _

_ As soon as he heard the front door slam, Billy peered out from the barrels he’d been hiding behind. His father, raging and drunk, staggered out into the street. Billy ducked back, curling himself as tightly as he could until he was sure Bill Senior was well on his way to his uncle’s betting shop. Then he eased out and went over to the tenement’s outdoor tap to pour ice-cold water on his handkerchief.  _

_ He knew his Mum would need it. _

_ “Mum?” _

_ Inside, the side of Delia Kinley’s face was already swelling, and she gave her son a grateful smile when he pressed the wet cloth to the gash from his father’s ring. _

_ “Thank you, my dear lad,” she whispered, pressing her palm over his on her cheek. Perhaps to make up for her husband’s furies, Delia never raised her voice, never so much as spoke in anger. She hugged him to her a moment, then forced herself to her feet and pulled out a cast iron kettle from the cabinet. “Could you fill us up, love, and I’ll put some tea on? We can read the next chapter of  Kidnapped  before your Da comes back, I think.” _

_ Billy smiled a little at that. They’d just gotten to the part where David has been shipwrecked  on the isle of Erraid , which seemed like an improvement from being bound for slavery in the Carolinas. “I hope Da doesn’t come back at all,” he muttered under his breath. _

_ “Ah, Billy, it’s not your father’s fault,” Delia said. “It’s been so hard for him since the shipyard closed. The Devil loves idle hands and a troubled mind.” _

_ Billy sighed, but said nothing as he lugged the kettle out to the tap. Mum had come over from a village outside Killkenny after the War, and she and her family were devout and very old-school Catholics. She still eyed Vatican II with suspicion and considered demon possessions significantly more likely than men ever landing on the moon. Williams Senior and Junior didn’t agree on much, but they did agree God was a fairy tale and even if He did exist there was certainly no evidence He gave a shite about them. And as for the Devil tempting his Da into evil, well, Billy remembered things a little differently from his Mum. Da’s temper hadn’t been much better when he’d had a job, he’d just been home less, and had less free time to drink away what little money they had. And it’d been three years, anyway; some of his friends’ Das had been let go, too, and at least some of them managed to find other jobs and not beat their wives bloody.  _

_ Billy Kinley Jr. had no interest in a red cartoon guy with a pitchfork. His Da did fine on his own.  _


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It doesn’t rain much in Los Angeles.
> 
> Eve had never thought about it before now. The clear California sun just meant days of beach parties and cool breezes playing over her naked skin after another night of dancing and sex. But leaning out over Lucifer’s balcony, she thinks of that first long, hot summer after the Garden, when she’d been chasing after Cain and hugely pregnant with Abel, and they were just starting to realize the rains weren’t coming. 

It doesn’t rain much in Los Angeles.

Eve had never thought about it before now. The clear California sun just meant days of beach parties and cool breezes playing over her naked skin after another night of dancing and sex. But leaning out over Lucifer’s balcony, she thinks of that first long, hot summer after the Garden, when she’d been chasing after Cain and hugely pregnant with Abel, and they were just starting to realize the rains weren’t coming. 

The ground was hot and she searched further each day for any trickle of a stream. All the determined hope she’d bundled up with her when they’d been forced out of Eden--that it wouldn’t be so bad, that at least they could explore, that it was better, in spite of everything, to _know_ rather than _not-know_ \--all that shriveled along with their wasting crops. She remembers trickling water over her little son’s fevered face and blowing on it to cool him. She remembers the dull beginnings of fear that the winter coming would be even worse than summer. 

Eve stands on the Devil’s balcony with that same shriveling sense of things coming undone around her. 

And she does the same thing now that she had then: Smile at her partner, look on the bright side, and force herself to believe everything will work out fine.

* * *

Eve had needed a breather, anyway. Not 15 minutes ago they’d been well on their way to distracting themselves from the whole mess: Eve already one orgasm to the good, kneeling over his lap teasingly as she leaned over to bite gently at his Adam’s apple; and Luce flushed and half growling, his hands kneading her ass as he started to pull her down onto him--

Then Luce had spooked so hard when his phone buzzed that he pitched Eve half out of his lap, and would have tumbled her onto the floor if she hadn’t caught herself and stood. The lazy lust in his eyes had drained out like someone pulled a plug, and in its place churned some complicated maelstrom Eve doesn’t want to think about. 

“Detective. What’ve you got?”

Eve, naked under her sundress, had headed to the balcony before Lucifer could go himself, pulling the sliding door mostly closed behind her. She should probably ask him to put Chloe on speaker, but she doesn’t care for police details, and listening to them talk always gives her a headache. She's been around angels a long, long time, and while she can't understand their speech, she knows their voices go multi-tonal when they want to say too many things at once. Outside of a case or a crowd, Luce can't talk to Chloe more than ten minutes or so without his voice filling up like a river hitting rapids.

“We shall await your arrival, of course,” she hears Luce say before he hangs up. He lets out a sharp, soft curse behind her, but Eve doesn’t turn around until he pulls open the door and steps out on the balcony. 

“What did she say?”

“She got a _case_.” His mouth works as though chewing something bitter. “She said she was following up on a lead and she’ll stop by afterward so that we can call someone at the FBI about Kinley’s group.”

“That’s good, isn’t it?

“It’s nothing special, it’s _delay_ ,” he growls. “One sister bludgeoned another to death with a hammer and was caught at it by a third. Called her accountant afterward, probably to get money to skip town. The Detective could easily hand it off to the Douche and focus on things that are more important, like getting to the bottom of this whole prophecy business.”

She’s not sure quite what to think about Father Kinley and “this whole prophecy business.” Luce seems to believe there’s something to it, if rummaging through half the books in his library is any indication. Chloe obviously thinks the prophecy itself is crap but Kinley and his zealots are dangerous. In Chloe’s taut voice this morning Eve heard her relentless self-recrimination and anger over having been Kinley’s stooge. 

Eve thinks both of them are going a little overboard. She and Luce have been dating for months, so either the evil is awfully slow-moving or there’s no evil to be released. And sure, Kinley may try to kill her, but Maze and Luce aren’t going to let that happen. 

It might even be exciting to be the focus of such protection. She recalls the little shiver of desire that went through her when Lucifer had stepped in to protect her during the bar fight when she’d first gotten to L.A. At this point, Eve thinks Chloe would step in front of a bullet for her, too--not that that’s a good thing.

Eve’s a little worried about the Detective, actually. The things she’d said during the last few Tribe nights … maybe Luce needs to know. Her boyfriend’s still mad at his friend, and Eve understands the urge to needle her; Chloe hurt him badly, and she had that clingy ex vibe when Eve and Luce started dating. But Luce still wants to hunt bad guys with her at the LAPD, and he must know guilt’s too dangerous to carry around for someone in Chloe’s line of work. 

“Luce, don’t you think Chloe is getting a little worked up over this?” Eve says, carefully casual. “She takes everything so seriously, and she … you know … _overreacts_ sometimes about celestial things. Maybe she thinks there’s a big Vatican conspiracy where there isn’t?”

Luce straightens his cuffs. He finishes his drink off, then looks into it as though waiting for the empty glass to refill on its own.

“I don’t know how many are with Kinley, but I don’t underestimate how far even one zealot would go. Humans justify all sorts of horror in the name of thwarting the Devil, darling,” he says in a low, humorless voice. “Torture, rape, murder; none of it counts, you see, if it’s done to someone in league with the Devil; all just part of purging souls of my unclean influence. A massacre in Lux would be blessed if it prevents some nebulous evil from being released.” 

Eve feels a chill. “Do you believe the prophecy is true?”

Luce runs his right hand over his left, worrying at that strange rash again. Eve realizes with a little shock that it’s gotten worse. His palm almost looks like a cross between an infected cut and a bad case of poison ivy--even though the Devil can’t get poison ivy and he’s never had a wound not heal in minutes as soon as he's out of Chloe's orbit. She opens her mouth, closes it with a snap. 

He hears her, but doesn’t meet her eyes. “I … I’m not sure. Usually these prophecies turn out to be gobbledygook, but this one seems legit.” He looks sick.

Eve’s gut churns with that _unraveling_ again, that frantic search for a new path as all her options close off. Chloe’s voice replays in her head: _When the Devil walks the earth and finds his true love, evil will be release_ _d._ _When the Devil walks the earth and finds his true love ..._

Oh.

_Oh_.

All of her dread evaporates, and the realization is like the first sweet water from a new stream. Liquid hope, reassurance filling her up. Eve abruptly catches both his hands up in hers, not even trying to keep the huge smile from breaking over her face as she pulls them up and kisses his reddened palm.

“Oh, Luce, I can’t believe you said it first; I’ve been dying to say it for so long.”

He glances up at that. “What on earth are you talking about?”

“I had a feeling, or maybe I just knew all along …” She tugs him down by his collar until she can give him a full-on tonsil-cleaning kiss, then laughs against his mouth, “that you love me.”

Luce leans back from her and his face scrunches in absolutely adorable bewilderment. “Right, and how did you end up there?”

“The prophecy, silly.” She laces their hands together and swings them side to side as she talks. It’s all she can do not to bounce off the floor. “If you believe it to be true …”

“Mhmm?”

“‘When the Devil walks the earth and meets his first love’ means you consider me to be your first love. Ergo, you love me.”

Luce looks gobsmacked. Eve leaps into his arms, causing him to stumble backward over a Barcalounger and land with her squarely in his lap again. He’s a little frozen when she tries to kiss him, and mutters, “Interesting that you focus on that when the whole evil being released seems like the relevant part.”

Eve forcibly calms her own giddy joy and tries to meet his serious expression. 

“Lucifer, no. I know what you are doing.” She cradles his face in her hands. “You’re scared, because you’ve been hurt before, and you are probably thinking of doing something really stupid, like demanding we break up and just tragically pine after each other instead to stop whatever evil is supposed to happen.”

The once and future King of Hell gulps.

“That’s _not_ the Lucifer I know--the Lucifer I fell in love with. The Devil doesn’t let anyone tell him he can’t have what he wants--or _who he loves_. If that’s breaking the rules, we’ll just change the game, right? And you don’t have to worry; I promise I will never, ever, _ever_ give up on you.”

She can’t quite help the little dig, the reminder of all those “evers” spitting out of the Detective’s copy machine. His eyes darken, and for a moment that distant look comes over him, the lost and brittle look he’d had standing over Julian McCaffrey’s cowering form. 

Then his expression smooths, and he flashes a perfect, trademarked Devil smirk as his arms tighten around her. “Darling, do you really think a Devil fool enough to let his first love slip away once would let anything come between them after getting another chance? I couldn’t possibly be that much of an idiot, could I?”

Eve laughs and kisses him again, and Lucifer kisses her back like he’s drowning. She’s just reaching down to bring them back full circle to where they were before the stupid phone call, when the sliding glass door opens and a sultry, mocking voice cuts in:

“I don’t know, Lucifer. At this point, I wouldn’t bet on how big an idiot you can be.”

_Maze_.

Eve finds herself scrambling out of Luce’s lap before her brain can even think to wonder why.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maze thinks Lucifer's an idiot. Lucifer and Chloe compare notes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter ran a little long but hopefully it makes up for the delay.

“Mazie!” Eve squeals. 

Mazikeen has been gone more than a month on this last trip, and Eve throws her arms around the lanky bounty hunter, burying her head into Maze’s high leather collar. The demon inhales a breath full of the scent of warm honey and figs. She winces a little and releases the little brunette.

“Hey, party girl,” she says, gruff and affectionate. “Bored again, huh?”

Lucifer’s girlfriend is, in Maze’s opinion, more _Lucifer_ these days than the Devil himself: more devious, more joyfully chaotic, with all the naughty, sometimes mean playfulness that her former master has been toning down for years. Maze slides her hand down for a friendly squeeze, and Eve giggles.

“Mazikeen, you’ve made far better time than I’d expected.” Lucifer stands and smooths his vest, stepping back from both of them with a brief expression of relief flickering before it’s wiped away. 

Maze, putting together several millennia of observation with what she caught of the exchange she walked in on, wrinkles her nose. No one but the Morningstar would have the balls to wallow in self-pity while using the First Woman as a fucking rebound. Then again, Lucifer would mope between the thighs of Helen of Troy herself; he’s just traded moping over his Dad for moping over Decker. 

Idly Maze wonders if it is even worth trying to avert the train wreck. Eh, not her zoo, not her monkeys any more. She’s just here for the funzies.

“I used Lux’s corporate card to charter a private jet. You’re welcome,” she says with a wolfish grin. “Hey, haven’t gotten to play with any good zealots since those idiots who thought they were Knights Templar back in the ’80s,” she smirks. “Where do we go to mess them up?”

His shoulders tense and he gives an aggravated sigh. “We don’t know yet. Amenadiel’s been in the Silver City running interference on that soon-to-be Nephilim-spawn of his, and I’ve found nothing about the prophecy itself in my library here. Unfortunately most of my … esoterica … is in the downstairs branch. Some of the Detective’s sources may know more about what the zealots believe.”

“Where’s Decker?” Maze asks.

“On her way.”

Maze hums noncommittally. “You seen that priest yet?”

“Not yet,” he says tightly. “The Detective had a little chat with him a few days ago and passed along his little koan.” He passes Maze and heads inside for a refill. 

Eve meets the demon’s questioning look with a slight head shake. “Chloe came to warn us in person. She seemed pretty worried,” she murmurs.

Maze rolls her eyes in amused contempt for Detective and Devil alike. In the context of millennia of Hellish politics, Maze shrugs off Chloe’s aborted poisoning as something on the order of pranking Satan with a laxative-laced coffee. And unlike Eve, she’s not schtupping the Great Lucifer Morningstar anymore, so she has no qualms about telling him he’s being a sulky diva about the whole thing. 

Maze had buried the hatchet with her former roommate a couple months ago, on a heavy-drinking Tribe night in which she’d demanded of a nearly insensible Detective: “Ey, Decker. You still scared a’ me?”

The little blonde had shrugged. “Sometimes. Mostly when you’re being a creepy bitch, so not much different from when you were just my psychotic roommate.”

Maze had smirked, but then pressed, “But I can still see the little human, right?”

And Decker had given a drunken little smile. “Yeah, Maze, of course. She loves you. I love you. We’re Tribe, right?”

That’s enough for Maze, particularly since Decker has forgiven the whole siding-with-Cain-to-mess-with-her-head thing. Her skank is still her skank. 

Besides, Maze’d warned Lucifer he was being a little bitch by not revealing himself to Decker before someone else did it for him. She’s a demon; she’s literally designed to enjoy twisting the I-told-you-so knife. 

Maze would get off on pure schadenfreude if she weren’t due tonight for her 23rd miserable blind date in a row. Every time she sits down with a new human, the demon thinks about some future in which it might actually _bother_ her if the one across from her knew who she was and feared her because of it. 

_Emotions are hard, but that’s why they make you strong_ , Linda whispers in her head. But after waiting on tenterhooks for Linda and Chloe to get over themselves, it's exhausting to contemplate opening up to another human who doesn’t already know and accept who she is.

Maze slings an arm over Eve’s shoulders and draws her inside. “You have nothing to worry about, party girl. Zealots are fun, and meeting you will probably melt their brains. Besides, the place gets dull when Lucifer goes too long without somebody trying to kill him.”

* * *

It’s nearly 7:20 that night by the time Chloe pulls into the Lux garage again, but it takes her another 15 minutes or so to force herself out of her car. After running flat out all day, she has nothing to show for it in either Lucifer’s case or her own but darker circles under her eyes. A hard, lumpy knot of dread roils her stomach at the thought of going up, and Chloe convinces herself she should probably do a lap of Lux first, to make sure they aren’t in the club.

To her surprise, they are. Or rather, Eve and Maze are, the two dark heads tilted and laughing in one of the banquette seats. Chloe makes a beeline for them, the knot unwinding in her a little.

“Hey, sorry I’m so late.”

“Hiiiiiii, Chloe!” beams Eve, and Chloe honestly can’t decide whether she’s taken something from Lucifer’s stash or is just naturally so ebullient she glows. “You should join us! Maze and I were talking about how awesome we are.”

Chloe barks out a laugh and cuts her eyes to Maze, who … flushes? Is that possible?

“I agree you guys are awesome, and I desperately want a drink right now. But I’m kinda still on the clock, and now that Maze is here too, I can go over the security plans the Lieutenant gave me …”

“Noooo!” Eve pouts, pulling puppy-eyes better than even Ella could. “Drinks and friend-help first, police stuff later. I was just practicing with Maze for her dinner tonight--”

“--business dinner!” Maze cuts into Eve’s babble. “Interview. For a new partner. Business partner, or whatever.”

Chloe’s eyes widen. “Seriously? I thought you hated working with other bounty hunters.”

The demon shifts uncomfortably. “Yeah, well, I got more work than I can handle now. Was thinking of, y’know, expanding … getting someone who can check my six. Works for you and Lucifer, right?”

Chloe keeps a carefully straight face for her former roommate, hearing a Lucifer-level twining of truth and obfuscation in the demon’s voice. “That sounds great, Maze. And Eve, it’s really nice of you to talk her through interviewing. That was always the worst part of job-hunting for me.”

“I’m always up for role-play, Detective,” Eve answers with a cheeky grin, and Chloe rolls her eyes in spite of the little twinge. _Yep, she and Lucifer are perfect for each other._

She gives Maze a run-down of everything she’d told Eve and Lucifer, as well as plans for the officers assigned to help keep watch on Lux. Chloe talks Maze down, temporarily at least, from simply breaking into Kinley’s holding cell to torture the names of his accomplices out of him. 

“So, I don’t have a lot to share yet on Kinley’s group, but I arranged to call a contact at the FBI in about 20 minutes, if we want to get hold of Lucifer.” She casually raises her head to scan the dance floor and bar, but doesn’t spot his dark hair in the crowd. “We should have time to call from the penthouse before his 9 o’clock set.”

Eve wrinkles her nose, and Maze snorts. 

“He’s not down here, Decker. Playing cop rubbed off on him too much--he’s upstairs doing _research_.” The demon says the word with the same shuddering contempt that a church lady might use to describe Maze’s own typical Saturday night.

“Oh. Oh, well, I guess we should go up, then?” Chloe stammers. There is absolutely no reason why the mental picture of the Devil carefully poring over records--could a fallen Angel wear reading glasses?--should make heat flush across her chest and throat, but she’s grateful for her high-buttoned blouse. She steps back to let the women out of the banquette, then frowns a little when they instead look at each other awkwardly.

“Uh, why don’t you go on up and let Lucifer know we’ll be behind you in a bit?” Maze says gruffly. 

“Yes! Right behind you,” Eve jumps in. “I don’t have a lot to add for your case, and I should really … help Maze practice before her meeting. It won’t take long.” Her doe eyes widen in a way that absolutely reminds Chloe of Trixie when she’s got something in her pocket she doesn’t want to pull out. 

A tiny lick of hope flickers before Chloe ruthlessly shoves it down. She nods with her best Serious Detective face and heads for the elevator. The knot in her stomach retwists itself with every floor it rises.

* * *

Lucifer is not wearing glasses, at least, but Chloe resentfully notes that stress makes him look rakishly disheveled instead of worn. He sits at his desk--a piece of furniture Chloe had thought purely decorative--head down in a thick, brittle-looking illuminated manuscript. He takes notes in a ridiculously calligraphic hand, with a _fountain pen_ , his shirtsleeves rolled up appealingly above his forearms. His normally coiffed hair sticks up where he’s been tugging at it, a mental image that makes her own fingers curl jealously. 

She has no right to soothe those curls into place, and barely manages to justify her light hand on his shoulder. “Hey Lucifer, sorry it took me so long to get back.”

He startles at her touch, jerking back, hands fisted and tucked under tightly crossed arms. “Yes, well, I haven’t done much with the extra time. None of my papal contacts have heard of Kinley’s group or this prophecy, and I’ve seen nothing of it in any of the major religious apocrypha … thought I’d found something similar in an alternate version of the Book of Baruch, but it turned out to be a mistranslation from Aramaic to Greek.” 

Lucifer quirks a frustrated, ironic smile at her. “I left the rarest scrolls on the end-of-the-world ravings of various madmen in the library off my throne room, of course. I’d expect popping down to fetch them would play into Kinley’s hands, but you never know; it may avert any prophecy on its own.”

She grits her teeth. “That isn’t necessary.”

“Are you sure, Detective? It proved quite helpful in recovering the antidote to Carlisle’s poison, once upon a time.”

It knocks all the breath out of her. _What the ever-loving fuck?_ _Lucifer’s “team effort” to cure her involved a trip to Hell?_

Chloe forces herself not to react, adding that little nugget to the pile of things she can’t think about without significantly more alcohol. “Thank you,” she says softly. “And no. I don’t want you in Hell, Lucifer.”

She waits for the inevitable dig, watches Lucifer’s mouth work on it for a moment, but at last he swallows and says only, “Good to know.”

He pushes up and past her toward the bar, calling over his shoulder, “Fancy a drink, Detective?” 

“Yeah, actually,” Chloe mutters. But she makes no move to follow him at first. Instead she keeps talking, just shy of babbling, really. She gives him a rapid repeat of everything she and Maze had worked out on security for Lux, sums up Ella’s report on Megan Murphy and the missing financial records from the twins’ real estate business. And tries to get his head away from the prophecy.

“And we _do_ have a few leads on the people targeting you and Eve, if we focus on them like any gang or terrorist group, rather than focusing on the prophecy itself. Agent Black at the FBI’s counterterrorism unit said we can call her tonight, right now if you have time before your set,” she says while he rummages behind the bar. “There’s an expert on religious extremists at UCLA that we can go see first thing tomorrow, while we’re waiting on the BOLO to turn up something on Moira.” 

He pours two glasses from an expensive-looking bottle of scotch and adds an ice cube to one that he pushes gently toward her. Chloe comes to sit on one of the high stools as she dials Agent Black’s number and sets her phone down in speaker mode. Lucifer keeps the bar between them as he drinks.

“Heya, this is Holly Black,” comes the blunt Texas twang on the other end of the line. “Detective Decker? I’d almost given up on you for the night.”

“Yes, sorry about that. I’m here with my civilian consultant, Lucifer Morningstar. Did you get the files I sent over?”

“Yep. I’m seeing this isn’t your first time hassled by religious wackadoos, Mr. Morningstar,” Black says. “That Evangelical street preacher a few years back, and you were catching blowback from those murders in the L.A. Satanist congregation too, right?” 

“Hmm, yes,” he purrs. “I tend to take it from both ends, I’m afraid.”

Chloe half chokes on her whisky and rolls her eyes at his smirk, but Agent Black lets out a full belly laugh, totally unconcerned. “I’ll just bet you do.”

Then her voice turns serious. “These folks are something else, though. Your William Kinley said he’s a member of the International Association of Exorcists--which is a real thing in the Vatican, not on any terrorist watch lists. It’s been around since 1990, set up by Gabriele Amorth, who was the Vatican’s chief exorcist, and as far as we can tell it’s mostly a bunch of oldish men who meet up twice a year and share stories. Amorth used to be a real firebrand about it, argued modern prayers weren’t as effective as the Latin ones and thought reading Harry Potter would send your kids to Hell, but he died a few years back. As far as we can tell, the official group requires a psychiatrist evaluation before they even consider trying to pray the demons away, so to speak, so no big concern.”

Chloe can see a muscle twitch in Lucifer’s jaw and knows he’s about to strongly disagree, so she quickly cuts in, “So you think Kinley is just a rogue crazy then?”

“Not at all,” Agent Black says, “because Kinley isn’t a member of the IAE, whatever he tells people. He belongs to Ordine della Milizia Celeste, a splinter organization that broke off from the Catholic Church nearly a decade before the IAE was created.” 

“The Order of the Celestial Militia,” Lucifer snarks bitterly. “Did they get the name off a paperweight in the Vatican gift shop, then?”

“What?” Chloe asks.

“That ‘celestial militia' moniker tends to propagate on kitschy statues and painted dishes commemorating Michael or Gabriel or some other of my more onerous siblings stabbing a dragon or some such, intended to be yours truly.”

Agent Black hums. “I don’t know about commemorative plates, but these folks absolutely consider it their duty to smite anybody they consider possessed or connected to Satanism--or atheism for that matter. Interpol has connected members to bombings of known gathering places for Wiccan and Satanist groups across Europe, even arson at a Unitarian Universalist church in Georgia that happened to host an atheist philosophy book club. From what I’ve gathered, Kinley himself has conducted more than a few so-called exorcisms that have basically amounted to ritualized torture and murder,” she says. “In fact, I’m pretty sure the Vatican approved an official group to try to distance itself from the unofficial terrorists.”

Chloe’s hands clench white against the bar; she can’t bear to even look at Lucifer. _Ritualized torture and murder_. This is the man who’d played her fears and broken trust under a guise of sympathy and support. She chokes back a laugh that might be a sob. Kinley told the truth on one thing at least: He really is an expert on evil pretending to be good and monsters who need to be sent to Hell.

She dutifully takes down every scrap of information on how many members of Kinley’s order have been seen in the United States, their modus operandi, likely connections in Los Angeles, and so on. Agent Black frankly confirms Chloe's concern that if Kinley has associates in the area, they are likely to target Lucifer, Eve, and Lux itself.

Lucifer breaks in. “Do you know anything about this prophecy they are working under? Where it came from, how they’re interpreting it?”

Agent Black harrumphs on the other end of the line. “I know it’s been part of their deal since the start, along with a handful of other random garbage. You’re talking to Nils at UCLA, aren’t you?”

“Ye-Yeah, tomorrow morning,” Chloe manages through her aching throat.

“He’ll be best on all that crap. I’m more on tracking and monitoring, but I’m not great on citations. I’ll send you all as much as I can put together; I’ve got a call in to a friend at Interpol who’s sending me more stuff tomorrow, and I’ll pass it along. Not stepping on your toes at all, but let me know if you get a lead on anybody working with Kinley. I would dearly love to help you dig out every single one of these maggots.”

“Indeed, Agent Black, I second your desire,” Lucifer purrs before Chloe ends the call. 

The silence that settles over the bar is so complete that Chloe can still hear the echoes of their last fight. She has nothing better to say now than she did all those months ago; she still wakes up muffling screams from her nightmares. It's worse, even, now that she has reclaimed her certainty of her partner’s goodness: Lucifer’s very existence and experience means her reality is governed by an all-powerful being capable of unspeakable cruelty against his own child, capable of structuring systems of punishment so endless that no crime can possibly justify them. Everything she knew about the world was wrong, and everything she knew about herself was wrong, too.

She feels rather than sees Lucifer move, and a bottle comes into her field of vision, refilling her glass. She cups it in both hands like a child holding hot cocoa and sips it that way too--as though it could warm her. She knows she’s shivering, tries to cover it as best she can.

“I’ve asked that Kinley be transferred to our holding cell,” she gets out, still not looking up. “Maybe your mojo can--”

“Likely reveal very little; his desires have hardly been hidden to date and zealots often have precious little guilt, unfortunately,” Lucifer says. “But I still relish the chance to have a conversation with our craven little cleric.” 

He pauses, taking a largish swig of his scotch, then finally comes out from behind the bar. He leans against it near her, his hands in his pockets as though this was some casual chat with a stranger downstairs. But his voice adds, more gentle than it’s been in months, “… and I do appreciate your efforts to protect Eve and myself.”

She shakes her head once, sharply. “You’re my partner, Lucifer. I will protect you and the people you love.” 

So much else crowds her throat and mouth, but she can’t get any of it out. Lucifer takes a long breath, exhaling as though suddenly exhausted. His right hand reaches up to push a stray lock of hair back behind her ear before returning to his pocket. 

“You didn’t go through with anything. You refused Kinley; that’s why he came to me at all,” Lucifer says quietly. “I do _know_ that, Detective. I was so, _so_ … I am still … but I do know that.”

Chloe nods once, looking him full in the face this time. She holds herself together with both hands and stands up.

“We can meet at UCLA in the morning if you want. I’ll text you the address.” She has roughly 45 seconds to get to the elevator, but she keeps her voice and body calm and it’s not a lie if her partner doesn’t ask. 

“Goodnight, Lucifer.”

He doesn’t ask.

“Goodnight, Detective.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chloe and Lucifer learn more about the Order while Eve and Maze plot to catch bad guys.

Eve stretches as she wakes, loving the feel of the silk sheets against her bare skin. She considers nuzzling back into the comforter for a while longer, but sits abruptly at the soft tap of Lucifer’s Louboutins against the marble floor. She eyes the slant of the sunlight over the bed and frowns. He can’t be dressed for work this early, can he?

She leans off the bed, bottom up, to scrounge for something to wear. Her fingers hook Luce’s cast-off shirt from where it landed the previous night just as she hears him come up the steps to the bedroom. 

“Well, aren’t I lucky to see a sunrise _and_ a moonrise in the same morning!” he chuckles from behind her. “What _ever_ are you doing? Not that I’m complaining.” 

Eve braces one hand on the floor and rises enough to shoot a grin over her shoulder at her leering Devil, then pops up with his shirt in hand. “Just grabbing something to throw on.”

Luce makes a moue of distaste and gently pulls the button-up from her grasp. “Oooh, no need to wear my cast-offs, Darling. Where’s that lovely new robe I got you? Ah, right here,” he says, backing to the closet long enough to tuck his shirt in the dry cleaning bag and tug her red velvet robe from its hook on the wall. 

Eve sighs but takes the robe. Luce’s fussiness about anyone else wearing his clothes always sparks a little urge for rebellion in her, but it’s not worth irritating him after he took such care to wring orgasm after orgasm out of her last night. Maybe a little fear of losing her spurred his passion, or finally getting their love out in the open allowed him to just relax and be the perfect lusty Devil she remembered from the Garden. “Hey, I was going to go take a shower. Want to help wash my back?” she smirks at him as she stands to wrap the robe around herself.

“Sorry, sugar plum, I have an early meeting before work.” He guides her toward a little tray on the bar set with fruit, pastries and a mimosa as he speaks. “With luck, it should help us get to the bottom of the priestly shenanigans.”

“But shouldn’t I come with you, to stay safe?” she says, only half exaggerating. 

“Not a bit, Maze’s flat connects to this one directly, and she is already on her way up to keep you company.” Luce wraps her up in his arms and nuzzles her hair before dropping a kiss on her head. “The sooner we track down Kinley’s little acolytes, the sooner we can get back to our regularly scheduled raves. … Ah, and here’s our favorite bloodthirsty demon.” 

Luce doesn’t run, exactly, but he also doesn’t let Eve get a word in edgewise as he catches the open elevator door just as Maze comes out. “Have a fun day, darling. Ta, Maze.”

As the doors shut she has a moment to wonder why he’s wearing gloves with his suit.

* * *

“Why so mopey, party girl? Didn’t you get laid last night?” 

Maze eyes Eve, who’s been picking at the same chocolate croissant for the past 15 minutes, staring off into space. 

“What? Oh, sure, of course. … I guess I’m just worried about Luce, with everything that’s going on. Even Chloe said she thought he should take some time off from being in the field, but you know Luce … he’s so … dedicated, you know? To punishing bad guys. I just wish he’d let me help, instead of just sitting here. He wants me to stay safe.”

Maze tilts her head, snake-like, and gives Eve a considering look. “I’m sorry, are you ready to go back to the Silver City?”

“What? No, of course not. That place is boring.”

“Mmm, so if you don’t care about being boring and safe, why are you still sitting up here being boring and safe?” Maze stands, pushes over into Eve’s space a little more to look down at her more steeply. “Do you like following orders?” 

Eve’s tiny next to Maze, but her dark eyes spark dangerously at that and she nearly lunges off the chair, forcing the demon to back up to avoid a spike heel on her instep. “I don’t take orders from anybody anymore, Mazikeen. Not from Adam, not from Lucifer, not from God Himself. I’m _done_ with being obedient. I can do whatever I want here.”

Maze’s eyes light up, and she wets her lips. “So what do you want to do?”

Eve thinks of how she felt with Julian McCaffrey cowering at her feet. She remembers how her boyfriend, even hanging to consciousness by a thread, had looked at Chloe in full Detective mode as she’d prepared to confront the bomber’s wife in Lux. 

“I want to punish bad guys,” she says with a breathy, excited thrum that sends goosebumps up Maze’s arms. 

Maze gives a fierce grin. “Did I tell you there’s a bounty out on the woman who murdered her twin in Lucifer’s case? Wanna help me track her down?”

Eve’s face lights up--then almost immediately falls. “What if we’re tracked by one of Kinley’s people?”

“Pffft,” Maze says. “I’d love for one of them to be stupid enough to try; I’ve got a new pair of blades to break in. Besides, we can make sure they never spot you at all.”

* * *

There’s a very large parking garage just across from the psychology building on UCLA’s sprawling campus. It’s totally full. There’s another, smaller garage right off the nanoscience building--also full--as is the one next to Spaulding Field. The only garage with any spots open is near Rosenfeld Library, on the total opposite end of campus from Nils Justineau's office. 

Chloe texts Lucifer to tell him she’s in the hinterlands and will probably be a few minutes late. To her surprise, he meets her halfway, at the edge of Dickson Court.

“Good morning, Detective!” he says cheerfully, holding up a little paper bag and a two-slot coffee holder. “I got us a little brekke.”

He hasn’t brought her coffee in months, even though he still brings donuts and expensive roasts for the precinct as a whole. Chloe bites her lip, hard, then gives him a brilliant smile. “Thanks. That’s really nice of you.”

He clears his throat. “Pure survival mechanism, Detective. I’m not sure even my Father would face you before you've had your morning caffeine.” 

She rolls her eyes and scowls as she takes a long pull on her cup, proving his point. Lucifer smirks, unrepentant, and falls into step beside her, passing her a lemon square before pulling out a bear claw for himself. The path to the psychology building seems less of a hike and more of a stroll, and Chloe wonders if Lucifer chose his spot to meet her to give them exactly enough time to finish their pastries before reaching the office of the FBI's expert on extremist psychology and mythology.

“Thank you so much for speaking with us,” Chloe says as Nils Justineau waves them into his office. 

“Oh, my pleasure, Detective Decker, Mr. Morningstar,” he says with a faint, gently rocking accent. “You give me a timely excuse to avoid grading essays.”

Lucifer cocks his head as he sits, strangely without removing his jacket or gloves. “You’re a long way from Stranda.” 

Justineau barks a laugh. “And you have quite the ear for accents, Mr. Morningstar. It’s been 20 years since I left my hometown, and close to eight since I came to L.A.”

The scholar gently collapses his long, lean form into the chair across from them. He has straight silver-grey hair and keen eyes of nearly the same color in a youthful face--a striking enough combination that Chloe cuts a discrete glance to her partner. Sure enough, a little smirk curls one corner of Lucifer’s mouth and his fingers twitch playfully along the arm of his chair, as though he’s considering simply leaning forward and tugging the man in by the hair. 

_Well, at least he won't get bored and zone out halfway through._

“Can you tell us anything about the Order of the Celestial Militia?”

Justineau's gaze brightens with interest. “Mhmm, a bit of a throwback, but quite interesting.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s not uncommon for religious extremist groups to call themselves warriors of god or armies of god or some such, but fairly few put themselves in opposition to the Devil literally,” his eyes flick to Lucifer and back--"rather than as a means of representing something else.” he says. 

“Homosexuals as Satan, Muslims as Satan. ... I know of at least two groups of white supremacists in Washington who follow the ‘Christian Identity’ movement; they believe Jewish people are the direct descendants of Eve and the Devil. But they spend a great deal more time focused on the anti-Semitism part than the anti-Satan part,” Justineau says. “The Devil is just the name for whatever the group wants to hate.”

Chloe sees Lucifer’s jaw twitch. Before she can talk herself out of it, she reaches below the sightline of the desk and squeezes his left hand briefly where he clenches the arm of his chair. He doesn’t turn, but she sees him take a slow, deliberate breath. 

Justineau goes on, oblivious. “This group is a little closer to a Heaven’s Gate kind of cult. Applewhite’s group considered certain religious and science fiction imagery literal and mashed it with his independent ‘visions’ connected to major cultural events like an expected comet. This Order operates similarly. Apparently they saw 2011 as the herald of the coming apocalypse.”

Lucifer perks up. “Was there a prophecy about that?”

The scholar hums an affirmative and pulls over a thick document.

“There’s a book on them?” Chloe croaks in disbelief. She’d been hoping Kinley’s group wasn’t so well established.

Justineau chuckles. “Nowhere near enough for that. They got a chapter in one of my grad students’ theses. …” he thumbs through it. “Mm, here: ‘Earth and ocean, air and fire, the heart of the stars themselves shall cry out at the coming of the Devil and the end of days.’”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Chloe asks. 

“They believe the prophecy was confirmed by the earthquake and tsunami in Japan, the one that triggered the Fukushima plant failure,” Justineau says. “They interpreted the ‘heart of the stars crying’ as the nuclear meltdown.”

Chloe feels her shoulders tighten but can’t help it. “That's a stretch. The meltdown was _stopped_. And what was supposed to be the air and fire? Just fires around the meltdown?”

Lucifer looks grim, but Justineau is nodding with her. “Or maybe something else. That’s the way these things tend to work. Apocalyptic cults try to make signs fit the prophecy, one way or another.” He tilts his head toward Lucifer. “Your name was just an unfortunate draw.” 

Lucifer grinds out, “Are there any more?”

“Hmm?”

“More _prophecies_.”

“Oh, not in this," Justineau says. "My student was writing on how cults attempt to integrate news events into their mythology; this was the only example she used. I was quite excited to see the one you found.”

Justineau shrugs. “Melinda’s long since moved on. I’ll track her down and see if she found any others while doing her thesis research.”

Lucifer says nothing, and Chloe rushes to fill the silence. “From that new prophecy, do you have any thoughts on what the group might try to do at this point?”

“They don’t have set date for this apocalypse; they will try to trigger actions rather than waiting for a specific time. That's a problem, because it can be easier to break up a cult if the prophesized day passes uneventfully. I think you are correct that they will come after Mr. Morningstar and Ms. Gardener, and likely in a way to try to frame you in as Devilish a light as possible.”

Lucifer abruptly stands and walks out of the office, leaving Chloe to scramble through the thanks and niceties before rushing to follow him. 

* * *

She finds Lucifer leaning against a wall next to the inverted fountain, smoking something that is very definitely not a cigarette with his arms crossed tightly in front of him.

He shoots her a look as she approaches, daring her to comment, but Chloe simply stands next to him in silence, scrolling through the texts she’s gotten from Dan and Ella while they were in the meeting. After two or three long drags, he stubs the joint out carefully against the wall and lays it neatly in the planter on the other side.

“Waste not, want not, Detective,” he quips halfheartedly. “Besides, university’s stressful. Lots of hell-loops about midterms, I’ve seen.” 

She refuses to rise to the bait, pushing off from the wall. “C’mon.”

He starts to walk her back to her car, which is good, wondering idly if the Detective will let him drive at all right after lighting up. He finds he wouldn't mind being forced to ride along. Lucifer feels tired, and lonely, and lost.

“What did you think?” she asks.

Lucifer thinks his mere existence helps humans torture and murder each other without a shred of guilt. He thinks it's quite good he and Eve could never procreate; imagine what the humans would do if he'd had _real_ spawn ...

He thinks these are perhaps not the most useful responses for his partner. “It rather confirms the worst regarding the prophecy, doesn’t it, Detective?”

“Wait, what? How did you take that from that conversation?”

“Well, obviously the prophecies to date have come true," he says. "The disasters in 2011--”

“--were in Japan, Lucifer, and had nothing to do with air or fire, and had nothing to do with _you--_ ”

“I moved to Los Angeles in 2011. The wildfires were quite bad that year, as I recall. Bad enough to spawn a fire tornado or two.” One corner of his mouth quirks up humorlessly at Dad's little joke. “Fire devils, isn’t that what you Angelinos call them?”

He hears Chloe grind her teeth. “Lucifer, this is California; there are fires _every year_. There are earthquakes _all the time_. That was the most half-ass, vague … I mean, I’ve heard more believable heralds of doom in my mom’s movies. Kinley’s no prophet and no angel, Lucifer.”

“If you didn’t want to find out about the prophecy, then why talk to the professor at all?” he snaps, lengthening his stride to pull ahead of her.

“It’s the same as getting a profile on any kind of killer; I want to understand what Kinley and his group believes, what they want, so we can predict what they’ll do. I’m worried about stopping _them_ , not _this_.” 

She tugs his jacket sleeve to slow him down. “Haven’t you told me before that your Dad hasn’t given a real prophecy in, like, 1,000 years? Why are you so certain this is any more accurate than a fortune cookie?”

“Because … because it’s already started,” he hisses in frustration.

“What?” she gawks. “You-you mean there are like, demons coming up, or--”

“ _No_.” They reach the garage and he abruptly pulls open the door to the vacant stairwell and ushers her inside. He cuts a glance up the stairs to be sure no one is coming down, then braces himself against the door they’ve just gone through and flaps a hand at her. Flippant. “Back up.”

“What?” she says again.

“Go on, back up. I don’t want to scare you.” Except he does, doesn't he? He needs a reminder of the way her face twists when she's terrified, when she hates him and sees the monster he really is. 

She does, and Lucifer holds up his left hand and strips his glove off, revealing a burned, claw-tipped palm and fingers.

Chloe gasps, her eyes cutting to his and back down again. “ _Oh_ …,” she pulls in a shaky breath, “Is that, um … you know, how your face gets?”

“Yes, ‘Devil hand’ doesn’t have quite the same ring to it,” he huffs. “Detective, this has never happened to me before.”

She makes a flustered flapping motion with her hands, the same one she'd used when Trixie had fallen off her bike and run inside bloody and screaming. “It’s going to be ok, we’ll figure it out,” she says. “Just … put your glove back on and I’m sure it will go away in no time.”

“That’s just it, Detective,” he says, his voice tight with strain. “It started out as a patch of skin but now ... it’s spreading.”

She takes a shaky breath, then steps close and wraps both her small hands around his much bigger red one.

And that's just ... no.

He freezes, her fingers cool against his raw skin. He feels nauseated looking at the contrast between them. One of her thumbs nervously brushes back and forth over his knuckles in a way that surely means to be soothing, but Lucifer can feel the flicker of her speeding pulse in her wrist. He’s torn between wanting to recoil from her and shamelessly beg her not to stop touching him.

He does neither, only watches as Chloe shakes her head, slowly, taking on that expression she gets when something a witness says doesn’t add up. “Lucifer, the timing isn’t right. You’ve been on earth for years; you’ve been dating Eve for months. Why would the prophecy trigger now? It doesn’t make sense.”

The worst is she's still talking, still _investigating_ , like it's nothing to touch him, like anything could possibly be more apocalyptic than her hand on his like it's _normal_. His chest hollows out even more, almost too much for him to put breath behind his words. 

“Perhaps it didn’t trigger when we met. Perhaps it triggered when I realized my feelings were … rather more permanent and all-encompassing than I’d thought.”

Chloe's fingers spasm slightly. “And that’s a recent change?”

His throat clicks. “Desire is easy to recognize and accept, Detective; passion, even … even friendship or care. … It is quite different to realize another holds a piece of your soul, that you cannot retrieve it even if you want to. … I’ve recently come to understand that I could have all the pleasures of this earth and yet without her I would be trapped under a starless sky as much here as I ever was in Hell. Is that not more triggering than a random shag?”

Chloe’s mouth works, but she doesn’t respond, only dropping her eyes to his hand again. Her voice is very soft. “I don’t believe that kind of love can bring out evil, Lucifer. You know Eve isn’t evil, and neither are you. You’re the Devil, but you’re also an angel.”

No. _No_. It would hurt less if she'd run, if she'd slap him or shoot him in the leg again.

He slides his hand gently out of hers. “I’m not sure that I am an angel anymore.”

“What do you mean?”

“After I killed Pierce, when my Devil face returned, I never checked to see whether my wings were still there. I still haven’t. I’m afraid that they’re gone, for good reason.” Lucifer fumbles for his flask, wincing when a long nail snags on the lining of his Burberry jacket; he hastily yanks his glove back on and draws the flask out to take a long pull. 

“Well, I think you should check,” she says, smiling a little and bumping him with her shoulder as they start up the stairs. “I think you might be surprised at what you find.”

He’s saved from answering her by the buzz of the Detective’s phone. She digs it out and glances at it, then taps his shoulder.

“C’mon. Come ride with me. They just brought in Moira.”


End file.
